


Let me (tend to your wounds)

by Kaijuscientists



Series: Fictober 2019 [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Burns, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gen, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Scene: Church in London 1941 (Good Omens), Whump, Whumptober 2019, pls this is not a foot fetish fic at all, why are titles and tags so hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-14 22:08:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20855099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaijuscientists/pseuds/Kaijuscientists
Summary: The after effects of walking on consecrated ground when one is a demon.





	Let me (tend to your wounds)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm trying to participate in whumptober this year, in the loosest possible sense. In that i'm writing for some of the prompts on the list, but in no specific order, i just want to challenge myself to writing smaller drabbles (i do have some longer fic in the works to though!) and i mostly write h/c whump anyway. 
> 
> anyway, the two prompts i used here (again loosely) were "don't move" and "secret injury"

“How are you soles?”

“My soul?” Crowley only half listening as he drove. “Ngk. Angel you can’t just ask a demon how their soul is!”

“No, dear, your soles, your feet.” Aziraphale say, watching Crowley closely. “Standing in the church, it looked quite painful. Dont think I didn’t notice you limping.”

“Was kinda hoping you wouldn’t.” He grumbled under his breath. 

“So you were just gonna hide that you got injured on my behalf?

“Yeees?” He says, and Aziraphale does not look unimpressed. “Look, I’ll be fine, it’ll heal. Barely even hurts anymore.”

“Fine, but at the very least come in?” He asks before he loses the courage to do it. “Let me take a look.”

Crowley stutters out a series of noises, some almost nearly forming a word. 

“Please, if I had not been so fool hardy, you would not have had to do what you did.”

“Alright” Crowley curses himself, why can’t he tell him no. 

Aziraphale smiles, in the way he does when he gets exactly what he wants. They make their way inside, Crowley limping heavily despite proclaiming he barely hurt just seconds ago. 

And yet, even watching Crowley struggle, he can’t bring himself to help the demon, not in public where anyone could see. 

As soon as they’re inside, the door closed behind them, he slips under Crowley’s arm, the demon gratefully leaning on him. 

He lowers Crowley into an armchair, calling a foot stole towards him as he sits. 

“Oh dear.” He gasps as the damage to Crowley‘s foot is exposed, red and raw and swollen. 

Crowley sits there, fist pressed to his mouth to keep from making any sounds as the angel pokes and prods. 

“That fucking hurts.” He says through clenched teeth. 

“I thought it wasn’t that bad,” Aziraphale says, more than a bit sarcastically. 

“I lied.” He says. 

“Well,” Aziraphale says, with as much confidence as he can muster. “I think I can help.” 

“No, no, I’ll pass. It’ll heal.” Crowley says, wiggling to pull his foot from Aziraphale’s grasp. ”I’ll just stay off my feet.”

“Crowley.” he says sternly, leveling him with a glare that has him frozen. “Stop squirming and let me help you for once.“ 

He miracles a small jar containing a soothing salve. Dipping two fingers in and rubbing it between his hands. 

Crowley grips the arms of the chair, knuckles white in preparation for the burning, his eyes clamp shut. 

Ever so gently, Crowley’s left foot balanced carefully between his knees, he massages his salve into the burning, nearly blistered skin. He lets some of his own angelic healing flow thru his finger tips. 

“Angel,” Crowleys says softly, all the tension bleeding out of him. “That’s… nice.” he says so quietly. It should hurt, badly. Instead it really does feel as if he’d walked across hot sand on a beach, not across holy ground. 

“Oh, is it helping?” Aziraphale asks, smiling up at Crowley as he works. “I wasn’t quite sure it actually would.”

“I’d say it worked beautifully.” He says, flexing his toes, he’s positive that come morning there will be no evidence of his church escapade. “Wait, you didn’t even know it would? What if you’d made it worse?”

“Thank you” Aziraphale says, counts it as a win when Crowley doesn’t tell him to shut up. “And I was mostly sure it wouldn’t!”


End file.
